Posts tagged ‘parenting’

They TOLD Me Not To Do It…

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Anyone who knows me knows that I am not one to generally break the rules. However, it snowed AGAIN last night!! (UGH!!!) About 10 inches!!! And I had a meeting to get to! Out the front door I slogged to my snow covered car. I cleaned off the windshield in order to see out of it, and rolled down the windows to clear off the snow on them. (Sure, the snow fell into the car, but at least the windows were clear.) Off I went to my meeting. There I was, putzing along on the main street, congratulating myself on getting the car ready so fast, (because being late to a meeting is a serious offense.) Singing along to the radio with gusto, (LITE 105), I looked around at all of the other cars so carefully brushed off. SUCKERS! I’ll bet I did MY car in 1/10 of the time it took them to do theirs!

As I so carefully pulled into the snow covered parking spot and stepped on the brakes, a loud sound was heard overhead. Kind of like an avalanche sound. Loud, echoing, freaky. All of the snow that had been on TOP of my car, warmed by the heat inside, now slid freely down onto the windshield, completing engulfing me in a white out. It scared me for a moment when I thought that this could have easily happened stopping at a red light. But I was gleefully overwhelmed by the fact that I had made it to the meeting on time!! Yay!!!! Except for the fact that when I went into the meeting to join the others and there WERE no others…the meeting had been cancelled due to snow! AGAIN!!!!

I’ll Stay Inside Til Spring

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Looked out the window today and all I saw was snow. Literally, the entire window was covered with snow, which reached up to the roof. Due to the high winds that blew the light and fluffy stuff across the small lake on which we live, our house window resembled the inside of a freezer. This actually kept the outside of our house “warm” at 32 degrees, compared the the howling wind outside at negative 15 degrees!

The saving grace is that the snow outside the front door is much lower at about 4 feet. Because one of my sons has consistently shoveled the walkway throughout these snowstorms, only about a foot of fresh snow covered the walkway. That’s the type of snow I hop through like a bunny. Jump, jump, jump with the longest strides I can muster, over to my car. Ready to go for the day! BRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!

Wish I was Punxsutawney Phil who could burrow down into my warm home, emerging in the spring!

A Home is a Home is a Home

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I was going to a home visit with a colleague the other day and the house we went to was absolutely gorgeous! Probably a $500,000 house, perfectly laid out and decorated. A comfy family room with a large screen tv and new, modern furniture. It had a large, expertly maintained backyard with a perfect multi-level playground system for their happy, young children. As we left the visit, my co-worker told me that she would LOVE to have a house like that, as would her children. Since her divorce, she has had to explain to them that they can only afford a small house, using the excuse that she only has limited money so she can’t afford anything better. It was an honest comment, and one that many people probably share.

I have four wonderful, loving sisters-in-laws. They all have beautiful, large, and well maintained houses. Granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances, (which I’ve learned from House Hunters is a “must”.) We gather at their houses regularly for birthday parties and holidays, and I always enjoy admiring their latest piece of new furniture, wall decoration, or new carpeting. After that conversation with my co-worker, I realized that I admire their houses, but I am not jealous, nor do I covet their homes. Good for them that they have the money to have such a nice home for their families! I am happy for them! If I had the money, sure, I’d be happy to have a home like that, but I don’t, and I’m still happy.

The thought never crossed my mind to to feel badly about my own, old, ramshakle house. After spending much of my childhood living out of a VW van, I think ours is a perfect house for our family. It is old because it was once a summer cottage and my dad, in his schizophrenic frenzy, added on here and there. It has some quirks; the hot and cold water faucets are backwards, the doors of the kitchen cabinets are made out of wall paneling, the parquet wood floors have been stained from years of foot traffic in and out from the snow, and the windows are old and some don’t open anymore. But we managed to set up three suitable bedrooms on the main floor, (sometimes four while fostering infants, when we turned the laundry room into a nursery,) and three suitable bedrooms in the basement. (Only our biological son and adopted children could sleep in the rooms in the basement because the Department of Children and Families does not allow foster children to sleep there.) We also have a large dining area to fit 16 at a long table with benches for seats, and a family room where the tv, toys and computer are kept. And we commenced to raise our family. This house, while not elegant or even attractive, suits us. We’ve had many years of children’s laughter and tears. Many years of care and patient acceptance. Many years of tragedies and triumphs. Even though we don’t have the money to have more luxurious surroundings, our home contains the most important thing of all; indescribable, life affirming, heart warming LOVE!

Quick…Tell Me Where to Turn

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Marie and I attended a baby shower for a cousin today, and had a fabulous time. For an activity, they decorated baby onesies. Marie, who is very artistic with fabric paint, designed six. Each one had a fabulous design and appropriate wording-for HER. My favorite was a picture of the dad. She perfectly captured his beard, big, bright smile and curly hair. His blue eyes actually had a gleam in them, and his cheeks were pink with excitement. On it she wrote: “Happy daddy, baby boy yes”, replicating how the words are signed in ASL. This for a new dad who did not yet know the sex of his child!

Driving the 45 minutes to the restaurant, Marie was in charge of the GPS. She loves it when I give her this “job” because it keeps her active during the drive. Previously when riding in a car, Marie would try to sign to me, but I have to keep my eyes on the road and taking my hands off the wheel is problematic. The problem was solved by making her my navigational guru. She takes her job very seriously. She motions me into the proper travel lanes, and tells me when and where to turn. It is especially tricky when driving in a city as we were today. “In 2 tenths of a mile take a left.” Left here. she points. “In 4 tenths of a mile take a right”. Right there, she motions. We efficiently executed the twists and turns to perfection, and she was very proud of her directional skills when we arrived. Should I ever tell her that the GPS was also talking to me?????

Bring the Fattened Calf; The Prodigal Son Returns

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The holiday season joyously reunites my family! Although Francis is not entirely a Prodigal Son, he is the one son who moved out of state to seek his fame and fortune. Having his Ph.D. from Cambridge specializing in Human Computer Interaction, he has found a fruitful niche among the computer conglomerates in Silicon Valley, California. He has purchased a modest half-million dollar home, (very much similar to the small ranch style homes back east, only less yard and much costlier.) He married an amazing woman who can DRIVE and for whom his vision impairment is not an issue. They recently had a one of a kind baby; a baby so pure and white and bald that she resembles an Alien. (Ooooops! I didn’t just say that, did I?) The best thing is, he comes home every Christmas!

Preparing for his arrival takes a lot of work. Being somewhat of an advocate for letting dust live out its life where it lay, I spend the month before his arrival cleaning; the usual spots, of course, but also those spots not generally covered in a regular cleaning; washing and waxing the cabinets, washing all of the walls so they look as clean as the day they were painted, cleaning under the soap dish in the bathtub, pulling out every speck of dust hiding under the radiators, and cleaning “his” bedroom so clean that it could be considered a sanitary room for a person undergoing a bone marrow transplant. I’ve added a rocking chair for baby to feed lovingly and comfortably. The sheets with flowers are washed with “spring” fabric softener, giving them a sensational floral scent, perfect for a multi-sensory feel. (Yes, sniff in the scent. It is a happy, welcome home scent!)

The decor of my home is generally early mishmash, but when Francis comes home, the walls are decorated with a multitude of photos of all of our children, hastily put together from photos from Facebook. (It is something I mean to do all year but never get around to doing.) The Christmas tree and house decorations are pulled from the bowels of the cellar, decorated and placed in traditional places. Same candles in the window as when Francis was a child, same tree, same decorations including the nativity scene that Francis enjoyed rearranging when he was a child. (He loved to put the donkey in the manger and lay the Wise Men down for a nap after their long hike.) All reminiscent of Christmas’ past.

Hubby, who is generally an excellent cook anyway, also prepares for the special visit. He makes seafood casserole, baked stuffed lobster, “stuffies”, prime rib (sorry fattened calf,) lasagna,and baked ham. For Christmas, we have a traditional turkey dinner, with Marie leading us in saying grace in sign language, joined in by all, (except Francis’ new wife who has not yet caught up in communicating with Marie.) The week is a gastric feast like no other, and poundage is added to us all.

For this one week of Francis’ visit, “normal” life is put aside for a week of conversation, a clean house, a joyful present exchange, visits to nearby sights of interest, (the ski area with the tubing hill, the amazing number of Christmas lights on houses that spend thousands of dollar on decorations, the local breweries, the wild, ravaging waves of the ocean, and, of course, Dave and Buster’s.)

Francis and his little family will be leaving tomorrow and life will be back to normal. I will miss him. And I will be waiting for his return next year!

Do any of you have prodigal children who return for the holiday? How is it for you?

A Special Birthday

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I sat in church this morning and watched the annual Christmas Pageant put on by the children in Sunday School. This tradition is always a treasure to see, especially when one of my own children had a starring role, such as Francis’ turn as a Wise Man, a role he “rocked” because he is super tall and regal and he is great at leading the way using a staff, (for his blindness); or Dinora’s role as Mary with her long black hair and wide, innocent eyes; or Angel’s turn as, what else, an angel. Although there was a myriad of rejoicing angels, only his had a wide, bright smile and a comical, rhythmical walk down the aisle. (Yes, Angel will do anything to stand out from the crowd.) As a mom, pride would burst from me and tears would form in my eyes as I watched my children participate in this holiday portrayal of the birth of Christ.
Today was different for me. My children are no longer of age to directly participate in the production this year, and I thought my feelings about it would be different. But they weren’t! I was still tearful as I was caught up in the gentle story of Mary and Joseph in the barn, standing in the stable until Mary collapsed in the hay to give birth to her Son. And the animals who engulfed children, their heads peaking out through costumes of a donkey, goat, and cow, who stood on the stage trying not to trip because the animal bodies were interfering with their vision. Then the shepherds were coming down the aisle, carrying stuffed sheep and being followed by toddlers wearing sheep hats, white fur and white gloves, baaaa baaaaa baaaaing like sheep. The angels coming, wings and halos and white robes, singing, dancing joyfully down the aisle, sashaying and waving the arms as though dancing to the movie “Frozen”. And then the three wise men, not lead by a tall, regal child like Francis, but led by a solemn young boy with glasses, grasping his Frankincense carefully, so as not to drop the treasure. And when they all arrived, they sang “Away in a Manger”. Then, like the Keystone Cops, they arranged themselves in front of the manger, in a timely fashion, each raised a letter to spell out a special song, a non-religious song, a wonderfully inspired song; “Happy birthday, dear Jesus”. They were wide eyed and joyful and full of the love of this new baby, Christ, who on the day of his birth changed the world for all of us.

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To Be Joyful with So Little

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When Dinora and I visited her birth place, Guatemala, we spent some time with moms who were working picking coffee beans. They toil all day while their children play nearby. Prepared for this visit, Dinora had a backpack full of little toys; small dolls, Matchbox cars, bouncy balls, toy rings, and so forth. (Above is a picture of a little girl clutching a small ring in her hand, so pleased with her gift.) The children were amazingly polite. Each child would gather around Dinora as she gave them each a small toy. Taking it delightfully appreciative into their little hands, they smiled shyly and stepped back to leave room for others to come forward. They didn’t crowd her. They didn’t ask for more, more, more. They reveled in the joy of that tiny toy! Sheer happiness!

It made me realize that more and expensive and better isn’t the right Christmas concept for children as they may not fully appreciate their multitude of blessings. If only they could experience the happiness on Christmas that those children among the coffee bean trees exhibited. Pure joy! What a concept!

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